The night of my graduation wasn’t a celebration — it was a reckoning. My father sat in silence, anger and grief shadowing his face. When I spoke of Mom, he snapped, but then his voice cracked: “I’m trying, Sophie… it’s hard.”
In that moment, I saw past his anger to the man hollowed by loss. Our broken trophy on the floor became a symbol — of our fractured bond, but also of our chance to rebuild.
That night I learned success isn’t medals or applause; it’s the courage to face pain and start mending what matters most: us.
